


Nothing But A Washed-Up Hunter

by imagineteamfreewill



Series: The Switch [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Concussions, F/M, Sam Winchester Is Held Captive, blunt force trauma, canonical violence, sam is tortured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineteamfreewill/pseuds/imagineteamfreewill
Summary: Sam’s journey out of the bunker doesn’t last very long, but a shared dream with the reader brings some things to light before he’s pulled back into consciousness.
Relationships: Reader x Cas, Sam Winchester & You, Sam Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/You
Series: The Switch [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1339267
Kudos: 25





	Nothing But A Washed-Up Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr of the same name on December 1st, 2018.

Sam had only been walking for two hours when he realized that leaving the bunker had been a bad idea. He’d had the feeling that he was being watched for a few miles now and though instinct told him that he’d be okay if something happened, he knew deep down that he wouldn’t. It was already dark outside and the chances of him being able to run if something happened weren’t very good, which mean that he’d either need to face it and hope for the best, or pray to Cas and hope that none of the other angels showed up. There had always been price on his head and he wasn’t about to pay it now.

A faded green road sign was on the right up ahead. Sam squinted as he neared it, trying to decipher the darker green shadows where the white letters and numbers had been.

“Twenty miles?” he murmured. The highway that led away from the bunker was long and deserted, and Sam knew that it had been a long time since anyone had driven it. The chances of him finding someone to hitch a ride with were slim and he wouldn’t be able to walk the twenty miles to the nearest town without having to stop and rest. He was doomed no matter what. The only question now was whether continuing to walk would do him more harm than good.

Stopping near the base of the sign, Sam took a deep breath and looked back the way he had come. Going back to the bunker was always an option, but that would mean he’d have to face Y/N again, and probably Dean. There was no doubt his brother had heard the heavy iron door slam shut when he’d left.

_At least then I’d be safe,_ Sam thought, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he tried to decide.

A faint chuckle made goosebumps rise up on his arms. Slowly, he turned to face the thick forest that lined the road. A pair of glowing eyes stared back at him and Sam swallowed thickly, wishing he’d thought to at least grab a gun from underneath one of the tables in the library on his way out. In his anger he’d forgotten what could happen if he went outside. At least then he would’ve been able to attempt to defend himself, but he’d messed up and now he had to face the consequences.

Sam looked around, then reached down and grabbed a long stick from the ground nearby. It was heavy, heavy enough to do some damage if he could find a loophole in the spell he was under, though he knew that in the long run, the monsters following him wouldn’t be harmed very much by a simple tree branch.

Stick in hand, Sam began to walk down the road again, this time back towards the bunker. He heard footsteps on the gravel that covered the shoulder and he walked faster. The extra speed didn’t do him any good, however, and seconds later he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, and then the forest around him dissolved into darkness.

* * *

“You ready for this, kid?” Dean asked, his green eyes full of concern as he held the belt in between the two of you with both hands.

Inhaling sharply through your nose, you nodded in response. “Yeah,” you exhaled. “Yeah. If this is what I’ve gotta do to save Sam, then I’ll do it.”

Dean glanced over at Cas, who nodded solemnly, then looked back at you and met your eyes. “Open up,” he sighed.

You gave Dean a nervous, closed-lipped smile before opening your mouth and biting down on the leather belt when he placed it between your teeth. He stepped aside, allowing Cas to move in front of you.

“This will hurt,” he warned you as he braced a hand on your shoulder. You nodded in acknowledgement and watched his face as he pressed his hand against your stomach. Almost immediately there was a funny-feeling pressure, quickly followed by a sharp, burning pain. You closed your eyes against it, biting down on the leather belt as the pain intensified tenfold with every passing second. Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes and you let out a sob around the belt, though the sound quickly turned into a scream. You started to hunch over, wanting more than anything to stop the pain from getting any worse. Another hand landed on your shoulder and pressed you back against your chair, and you knew in the back of your mind it was Dean. Nevertheless, you fought against it. Every fiber in your body was telling you to get away from the person causing you this pain and you started to thrash in the chair, trying to get out of Dean and Cas’ strong grips.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Dean soothed, and almost as soon as it had started, the pain was gone, leaving you to fall limply into his arms. A hand stroked your hair as you felt the chair beneath you disappear. It was replaced by something soft—_a bed,_ you vaguely recognized—and you let out a sigh of relief when the bright light on the other side of your eyelids was turned off.

“Did you find him?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Cas replied, his voice quiet. “He’s not far from here.”

There were quiet shuffling noises as the boys moved the chair back to its spot under your desk and picked up the belt that had fallen on the floor. Too exhausted to pay close attention to them or even think about Sam, you let your eyes stay closed as you waited for sleep to come. The bedroom door clicked shut and the room finally fell into silence, but the heaviness in your head and the pain that lingered somewhere inside of you made it too difficult for you to process that Dean and Cas hadn’t even bothered to tell you that they were leaving.

Sleep soon fell over you, and suddenly you found yourself walking alone through the darkness, the only sound your footsteps against the black ground that stretched on for eternity.

“Hello?” you called, your stomach twisting into knots as you looked around for something, anything, to tell you where you were. “Is anyone out there? Can somebody tell me where I am?”

“Y/N?”

You whirled around at the Sam’s voice, and almost instantly the empty world around you transformed, the darkness melting into a kitchen you’d never seen before. Golden sunlight poured in through a window bordered by navy curtains. Matching navy cabinets with white marble countertops lined two of the walls.

Sam was leaning against an identical island, one elbow resting on the countertop and a forgotten coffee mug within arm’s reach. He was wearing different clothes than he’d been in when he’d left the bunker; instead of his usual jeans and a flannel, Sam was in dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons undone. You had to admit it—Sam looked good, and you licked your lips to try and cure the sudden dryness in your mouth.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed as you took in your surroundings.

“I— I’m dreaming,” you realized after a second. “This has to be a dream, but…”

The hum of the microwave above the stove behind you made you turn. Another mug was inside and you tugged open the door when the timer reached zero. The handle was hot and a subtle sniff told you that it contained your favorite tea. Frowning, you cradled it carefully, trying to figure out how you were having a dream with Sam, who seemed so convinced that you shouldn’t be there.

“This is my dream,” Sam said. “How are you in my dream?”

It was only logical that soulmates share dreams, especially when they were separated because of something like this, and the thought made you nervous. There was no way to explain that to Sam without telling him what you’d been so careful not to reveal anything.

“Why are you asleep right now?” you asked, hoping to redirect the conversation away from anything related to soulmates. Holding your mug in both hand to allow the hot ceramic to warm up your palms, you turned around once more to face him. A glance through the kitchen window told you that it was winter outside, and you wondered why Sam was dreaming of winter in a house like this when it was barely autumn in the real world. It wasn’t until a moment later that you realized that the house was only a pipedream for Sam—he’d barely ever had the chance to live in a real home. This had only ever been a dream for him, an achievement that was only able to be reached by those who weren’t in the life.

“I— I don’t know…” Sam murmured. He looked down at the floor, then shook his head and reached over to grab his own mug from the counter. “Maybe this is a daydream?”

Both of you knew better than that. If Sam was dreaming, it meant that he was asleep somewhere, and you had a sinking feeling that he wasn’t sleeping in a cushy hotel. Most likely he’d been knocked out by something or someone, and that never ended well. You just had to hope that Dean and Cas would find him in time before anything bad happened.

Silently, you reached out a hand for Sam’s. “Show me the rest of your house?” you asked, hopeful. The least you could do was keep his mind off of whatever was going on in the real world, if only for a little while. Plus, a part of you really did want to see Sam’s hopes and dreams. They were a part of him, just like your own longtime dream of having a home was a part of you.

Sam watched you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. “Aren’t you angry with me? I yelled at you and then left. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, especially not by someone like me.”

Your heart sank in your chest and you sighed, looking down at your mug before setting it down on the counter beside the stove. Turning back around, you gave Sam a sad smile. “Not really. I probably should be, but I’m not. I just… I wish you’d see you the way I saw you, Sam. The way the rest of the world sees you. You’re a _hero._ You’ve saved the world and sure, you’ve done some bad things—”

“I’ve done a lot of bad things, Y/N,” Sam interrupted.

“That’s not my point,” you sighed. “Sam, I love you and—”

Sam blinked, and you did too, your entire train of thought gone completely. You hadn’t expected to say that. You hadn’t even _thought_ those words before, and admitting it to yourself—and to Sam—made you want to crawl into a hole in the ground and never come back out. Your cheeks felt warm as you cleared your throat and faced the stove again, picking up your mug and taking a long sip. The tea was still hot and it scalded your tongue and then your throat on the way down, but you ignored the sting.

“You love me?” Sam asked, his voice quiet. When you didn’t reply, he placed a hand on your arm and gently turned you around so that he could meet your eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed again and you smiled nervously at him, unsure if his reaction was good or bad.

“I— I think so. I don’t know. I just… I’ve never thought about it. I just said that, I’m sorry.” Looking back down at your mug, you were surprised when Sam’s finger hooked under your chin, lifting your face until you met his gaze once more.

“It’s okay,” he assured you. “I’m not angry or upset. Not with you, not anymore. I love you too.”

“You love me too?” you asked, incredulous, and Sam nodded in response. Relief filled you and you let out a little laugh as his hand dropped back down to his side, his other hand still holding his coffee. The heavenly smell wafted up to you and you couldn’t help but smile a little more.

“You’re using that hazelnut creamer I used to buy,” you said. Sam blinked and then looked down at his mug, lifting his eyes after a moment.

“I guess, yeah,” he smiled. “Is that good?”

You nodded and hesitantly reached forward, taking his hand in yours. “It’s good. It reminds me of home and…” You paused, thinking of the word you wanted to use. “It reminds me of what it was like to feel happy and safe all the time. It’s good. Now come on, I wanna see your house.”

“We’re not going to talk about this anymore?” Sam asked as you pulled him through the kitchen doorway and stepped into a warmly-lit living room.

“I’d rather we had this conversation when we were both awake, if that’s alright,” you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling. You didn’t look back at him, instead choosing to glance around the room. “Besides, when else am I going to get the full, three-sixty, virtual reality experience in your dream home?”

Sam chuckled a little behind you, dropping your hand. “Not ever, I guess.”

Walking past you, he moved to pick up a picture frame that had been set up on the mantle of a white-tiled fireplace. He set the coffee down on the mantle before running his fingers over the faces in the photo. You watched him for a moment, letting him soak in his surroundings, then joined him. You placed a hand on his back when you walked up, smiling a little to yourself when you noticed the corner of his lip turn up at the gesture.

“Are those your parents?” you asked, pointing at the picture in his hand. A middle-aged woman with blonde hair was snuggled up next to a taller man for the camera. The man was dark-eyed, with black hair that continued along the angled lines of his face, turning from a slightly-shaggy haircut into a shadowy beard. They were both smiling, and in the corner of the photo you saw the woman’s hand. A silver wedding band looped around her ring finger.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Mary and John. They both—”

“Died,” you finished. “I know. I’m sorry. Both my parents are gone too.” You moved your hand, wrapping your arm around Sam’s waist without a thought, and gave him a gentle squeeze. Sam shifted his grip on the picture frame to one hand, then wrapped his own arm around you. If you had been able to read his thoughts, you would’ve heard him note how natural the movement felt, and the small smile on his face would have made even more sense.

“I don’t know where the fireplace came from,” Sam chuckled after a moment, directing the conversation back to the house as he set the frame back down. “I can’t remember ever wanting one.”

You thought for a second, inspecting the tall bookshelves built into the walls in front of you, until finally, it clicked.

“That’s because it’s not part of your dream,” you told Sam with an incredulous smile, slipping out of his arm and moving away. You ran your hand along the wooden shelves and reading the titles of the books on them as you passed by, inspecting the shelves. It was just like you’d always imagined.

“It’s part of _my_ dream. I’ve always wanted a fireplace. I think it’d be nice to curl up with a book or something when it gets cold out during the winter. It’s a little cheesy”—you chuckled—“but nice, I guess.”

Behind you, Sam replied, “I don’t think it’s cheesy. I think that you should get a fireplace if you want one.”

You ducked your head a little at that, then dropped your hand back down to your side as reality came back into mind. “Yeah, well, the Switch kinda makes that an impossibility now, huh? It’s all just a dream.”

Sam was silent and you let out a sigh, suddenly feeling bad for ruining the mood. After all, the two of you had just told each other you loved each other. Shouldn’t you be happy?

Chuckling, you turned around to look at Sam, whose eyes were focused on another one of the framed photographs on the mantle. “This is silly, Sam.”

“What’s silly?” Sam pulled his gaze away from the picture to focus on you once more.

“Us. I mean, we just confessed our love. Shouldn’t we be… celebrating or something? Kiss?”

Sam grinned. “Do you _want_ to kiss?” he asked with a little laugh.

“Yes?”

“That question isn’t really one that a guy wants to hear answered with a question like that,” Sam replied, a small smile still on his lips, though less toothy than the first.

“I’m sorry,” you groaned, looking up at the ceiling as you ran your fingers through your hair. “This is all so new to me. I never expected to fall in love with someone, let alone with my soulmate…”

“Soulmate?”

You winced. Slowly, you tilted your head forward again. “Um…”

Before you could get any kind of response to form in your head, you realized that a slow trickle of dark red, almost black blood was moving down the side of Sam’s face. Frowning, you stepped towards him, reaching out with one hand to touch his cheek. Your fingers came away stained with red, and Sam’s wide eyes met your own. Panic was clear in his expression and you watched on in horror as another tiny stream of blood appeared. Tiny cuts began to appear in a straight line across his forehead, each oozing even more blood. Blood began to pour from his nose, as well as the corner of his lips, and you felt bile rise up in your throat when Sam grabbed onto your arm, his movements jerky and his panicked grip tight.

“Y/N, I don’t know what’s going on,” he choked out.

Shaking your head, you grabbed onto Sam as he collapsed. His eyes rolled back slightly before returning to normal and he stumbled with you to the couch, where you helped him sit on the dark blue cushions. Almost immediately he slumped against you, his hands trembling and cold as you laced your fingers with his, squeezing tightly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you assured him. “I’m right here, you’re gonna be okay.”

_Please, Cas,_ you prayed. _Find him quickly. Please don’t let him leave me like this. Please don’t let him die._

“I’m scared,” you heard Sam say.

The house around you was beginning to melt into darkness again, and you clutched onto Sam as you heard him let out an anguished sob.

“Please don’t leave me,” he cried. He sounded far away and your eyes burned with angry tears. Sam couldn’t leave you, not like this.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you told him, trying to get the words out before he dissolved with the rest of the living room. “I love you, Sam. It’s going to be okay.”

For a split-second, you met Sam’s eyes. Fear filled them and your heart broke as you promised, “I’ll be right here with you, it’s okay. You’re gonna be just—”

Before you could finish, Sam disappeared. The image of him sitting beside you, his hands in yours, disintegrated into nothing but dust, then disappeared into the black void all around you. You were alone again, and a sob left you as you collapsed to the ground, catching yourself on your hands before your head hit the dark floor.

* * *

The empty barn swirled around him as Sam tried to get his bearings. His head was throbbing hard and when he tried to lift it even a little, a sharp pain ran from the back of his skull all the way down to his spine. He’d been hit hard by whatever monster had been lurking in the woods.

Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, allowing his mind to catch up with the rest of him. The air smelled like burning leaves and when he tried to shift his hands he could feel the thick, scratchy ropes that had been used to tie them painfully tight. The fibers of the rope were sticking out, pricking into his skin like a thousand tiny needles, and Sam grit his teeth together as he tried to wiggle them out of the bindings. His ankles were tied to the chair legs as well, but moving them succeeded only in making the chair beneath him wobble. It wasn’t sturdy and for a moment Sam thought about wiggling it enough to break the legs off, but he judged that he’d only hurt himself more if he accidentally fell backwards and hit his head again in the process.

Sam opened his eyes again, this time keeping his head still as he looked up through his lashes to take another look around the room. There was nothing unusual about it, and he let out a quiet sigh as he closed his eyes again. He could feel warm blood dripping down the side of his face, and from the little spots of pain all over his skin, Sam judged that his face was pretty cut up. Whether the cuts were from falling on the gravel or from purposeful injuries, he had no idea. Either way, he clearly had head trauma and some amount of blood loss. If Dean and Cas didn’t find him soon, he didn’t know what would happen. He could already tell that he wouldn’t be able to stay awake for very much longer.

_And Y/N,_ the little voice in the back of his head added. _You want to see Y/N again too, remember?_

Before he could process the thought, something stabbed into Sam’s shoulder from behind and he jerked his head up, his eyes flying open as an involuntary scream left him. Pain radiated from his head to his toes and he let out another anguished yell when someone grabbed his hair, yanking his head backwards to look at him. The chair they’d tied him to was tilted back as well and his feet left the ground, dangling beneath him.

“Boys! He’s awake!” someone cried.

Sam forced himself to open his eyes against the pain so that he could get a good look. A vampire stood over him, grinning with all his teeth on display as he pulled on Sam’s hair a little more.

“Go to hell,” Sam managed to grind out, and the vampire laughed, releasing him. The chair fell backwards and Sam’s head bounced against the hard, packed dirt. Warm pain spread throughout his body and he groaned. He could feel the bile in his throat begin to rise, and just before he threw up, Sam managed to get enough momentum to rock himself onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. Somewhere behind him the vampire was laughing at him, now joined by two new voices, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care as he emptied his stomach onto the barn floor. The dirt soaked up all the liquid and Sam had to breathe through his mouth so the smell wouldn’t make him gag and throw up again. If he’d had the energy, he would’ve tried to move away from the now-wet dirt, but he was in so much pain and he was so tired. Sam didn’t think he’d ever been this tired in his life, but somewhere in the back of his pain-riddled mind he knew that he needed to stay awake. If he had a concussion, falling asleep would only make it worse. Plus, he couldn’t even try to defend himself if he was unconscious.

_Not that I can defend myself very well right now anyway, _Sam thought to himself as shameful, angry tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, dripping down his face and over the bridge of his nose. He ground his teeth together, wishing he could wipe them away so he wouldn’t look as weak as he felt.

“Sam Winchester’s not as big and as brave as he was rumored to be,” the first vampire taunted.

One of the newcomers laughed as her boots came into view. “Didn’t you hear? The Switch wiped him completely out of fight. The Winchesters tried to save the world again and it backfired. He’s useless now. Nothing but a washed-up hunter.”

Sam clenched his jaw for a second, stopping only when the pain from the muscles tightening making his headache even worse. “Untie me and I’ll show you just how much damage a washed-up hunter can do,” he threatened, but somehow the words came out sloppy and slurred and the three vampires only laughed in response. It was an empty threat and they all knew it.

“Should we take him to the boss?” the third one asked.

“Eh, just leave him there. He’ll knock himself out pretty soon and then we can get a nice feeding in before we take him,” replied the first, and the vampire standing nearest to him groaned in disappointment. She crouched down enough that Sam could see her face if he strained his eyes enough to look up and she smiled menacingly when he gathered up enough energy to curl his lip at her in a quiet, furious snarl.

“You’ll make a nice snack, pretty boy,” she crooned as she reached out a hand and stroked his blood-matted hair. If Sam had had the energy, he would’ve flinched away, but all he could manage was to close his eyes and wish himself elsewhere. “I can’t wait to drain you.”

“Ella!” the first vampire scolded, and the female vampire drew her hand away with an annoyed sigh. “You know the rules—Leonard gets the first taste!”

“Leonard gets the first taste,” Ella mocked. Sam kept his eyes closed as she walked away, but the sound of her footsteps came back quicker a few seconds later, and before he could open his eyes to see what was going on, Ella delivered a sharp kick to his abdomen. Sam groaned in pain, hunching over as much as his bindings and the pain in his spine, neck, and shoulder would allow. He heard her let out an amused scoff before walking away again, and a minute later the barn door squeaked open and shut. The barn was silent after that.

It was hard to stay awake when all Sam had to focus on was the throbbing of his head and the open, bloody wound on the back of his right shoulder. He could feel the ropes digging into his wrists and the soft, meaty flesh beneath his thumbs. Now that the room was silent and the vampires weren’t there to distract him, Sam could feel pain radiating up and down his right arm. The heavy wooden chair was weighing down on it and after some slow, hard thought, Sam figured that the weight of it crashing down onto his arm during his fall had broken the bone in at least one place, maybe in more.

Time went on and Sam found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered having a dream about Y/N at one point—one that made him feel warm and happy inside, at least for a while, but he opened his eyes at one point to find that he was crying and that his breathing was akin to an anxiety attack. He hadn’t had an attack in a long time, not since right after the Switch, and it took him a long time to calm himself down.

After what felt like an eternity of trying to stay awake and keep from panicking again, Sam heard the one word he’d been aching to hear:

“Sammy?”

Relief flooded him at the sound of his brother’s voice. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes again. It felt as if he’d only had them open a moment ago, but now he was just so tired.

“Hey, Sammy, open those eyes for me. Open your eyes,” Dean repeated, and Sam felt his brother’s hand on his face, then his neck. A sigh of relief followed. “He’s got a pulse.”

The bindings were soon gone and Sam’s wrists fell to the ground, his left arm strained as his hand pulled the arm back around the straight wooden back of the chair. Sam felt his eye being pulled open slightly by Dean and he let out a soft groan.

“Is the building clear?” Dean asked.

There was a pause before Sam heard Cas reply, “Yes. I don’t sense anyone nearby, not for a few miles.”

“Can you heal him?”

“Not here. You know that if I use my grace now—”

“You’ll attract more harm than good and all that, yeah, I know,” Dean answered, sounding more annoyed than anything, but Sam knew better. He was putting up a front so that he didn’t seem so hopeless.

Sam didn’t want Dean to feel hopeless, and he summoned as much energy as he could to force his eyes open. “Dee?” he murmured. His eyes felt so heavy, but he had to make sure Dean knew that he was alright.

Dean’s head snapped down as he met Sam’s half-open eyes, and Sam could tell that his older brother was relieved to see that Sam was at least somewhat more alive than he’d originally thought.

“You’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna get you back to the bunker and Cas is gonna heal you,” Dean reassured him and Sam blinked, his eyes drooping for a little longer than normal before he managed to get them open again. When he did, he realized that his surroundings had changed. The empty barn had transformed into the backseat of the Impala. It rumbled comfortingly beneath him and Sam’s mind wandered back to his childhood. He’d taken so many naps in the backseat of the car. He remembered lying on the leather seat, going through his history flashcards with a flashlight on a rainy night when John was at the nearby bar and Dean was using the motel room to hook up with a girl he’d met from the local community college. Sam remembered resting his head against the window and watching the highway signs fly by as his dad navigated the twisting cross-country roads. Dean would try to interest Sam in some of the quirky roadside attractions they occasionally stopped at, and Sam remembered that at one point he’d kept the names of all the towns they visited written down on a piece of motel stationary. He’d stashed it somewhere in the car—where, he didn’t remember—but John had thrown it out one afternoon when he’d recruited the boys to help him clean the Impala.

Sam remembered that afternoon vividly. John had been so insisted on teaching him and Dean about how to care for cars, but Sam had just started a really good book that the librarian in the last town had insisted on him having. All he’d wanted to do was go back inside Bobby’s house and finish it. He and John had gotten into an argument, and in the end Dean had been the one to finish washing and towel-drying the Impala. Afterwards, he’d come and found Sam. Dean had scolded him for picking a fight over something stupid, but after a few minutes he’d simply sighed and taken Sam to the diner down the road. He’d bought them both ice cream sundaes and the topic was dropped.

“You still with me?” Dean called, and Sam mustered the strength to meet his older brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. It was still nighttime and all he could see were the green of his irises and the vaguest of outlines of the bridge of Dean’s nose, but it was enough to comfort Sam. He was safe. He’d be okay.

The sound of Y/N’s voice telling him that he would be okay popped into Sam’s head and tears formed in his eyes, leaking out onto the black leather beneath him before he could stop them. He’d screwed things up with her. No doubt she’d hate him for yelling at her and then walking out and putting himself in danger. He just hoped she wasn’t blaming herself for his stupidity.

“Sam! Hey, wake up!”

Sam forced his eyes open again. “M’here,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the growl of the Impala. “M’awake.”

“Good. You’re lucky Y/N was able to help us find you,” Dean replied. His voice was so loud and Sam winced, turning his head away in hopes that it wouldn’t be so loud. He tried to move his arm because it was starting to fall asleep, but it hurt and he let out a quiet groan. “Stop moving, you idiot!”

“Hurts,” Sam slurred out. He could feel himself fading out of consciousness again, the thought of Y/N on the horizon of his mind. If Dean replied, he didn’t hear it.


End file.
